


Until We Meet Again

by ailaikannu



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke's POV, Don't Judge Me, Drama because drama is my thing, F/F, I wrote this at three a.m, I'm kind of sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7963255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailaikannu/pseuds/ailaikannu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day I woke up and you were gone.<br/>I woke up to silence and numbness, forgetting you’d gone.<br/>I woke up expecting the smell of coffee you don’t drink and the sound of pots on stoves.<br/>Instead, I woke up to nothing.<br/>I guess I’ve gotten used to this.<br/>This heart breaking loneliness. This soul crushing silence. This nerve wracking emptiness.</p><p>OR</p><p>I'm really sorry but it was three a.m and this just came to me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until We Meet Again

One day I woke up and you were gone.

I woke up to silence and numbness, forgetting you’d gone.

I woke up expecting the smell of coffee you don’t drink and the sound of pots on stoves.

Instead, I woke up to nothing.

I guess I’ve gotten used to this.

This heart breaking loneliness. This soul crushing silence. This nerve wracking emptiness.

Sometimes I can still feel your laughter filling up the hallways of our home. A home that feels like a meaningless house without you in it. If I close my eyes and concentrate enough, I can feel your perfume invading my nostrils. It’s intoxicating.

I got over the angry screaming pretty early. I remember I kept yelling that you were a liar, that you’d promised you’d be with me forever. You said we’d grow old together. You said we’d have children and grandchildren to look after. Instead you left me, a few months before our second wedding anniversary.

Our wedding was beautiful, huh ?

I still remember the way your hair smelled that morning. I remember watching you wait for me at the aisle. I remember how you tried to act cool when you were bawling your eyes out. I remember the white flowers in your hair. I remember how you held my hand as we said our vows. I remember I promised I’d protect you from anything.

I failed.

You left me almost a year ago, but I can’t blame you, can I ? I still do, though. It’s easier than accepting that you’re really gone and that you’re not coming back. If I convince myself that it was your choice, there’s always going to be a part of myself that believes that you’ll be coming back.

Except you can’t come back.

You died in my arms in a cold night. You took your last breath as the snow was falling down, and the wind was blowing hard on our windows. I still remember the way the moon was shining through your eyes. You never lost your own light, not even when you were about to close your eyes for one last, excruciating time.

You looked peaceful. I don’t know if it was because of the morphine or because you had made peace with yourself. I don’t think I want to know. You looked fragile, like you could break at my touch. Your legs couldn't hold you up anymore. Your skin looked like a thin layer of paper, it was almost see through. You were pale, with deep dark circles under your eyes. Your hair wasn't as thick as it used to be, and much shorter.

You still looked like the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

“Don’t be afraid.” Were the last words you spoke. Your voice was soft, like a whisper, as if you were telling me a secret nobody was supposed to know.

I had both your hands in mine, holding them softly, as not to hurt you.

Your side of the bed is always cold. Even during stormy nights, I can’t bring myself to sleep on your side. I wish I could hold you like I used to. I wish I could fall asleep on your chest. I wish you were still here, where you belong.

I remember you used to say you wanted to die before me because you didn’t know how you were going to live without me by your side. I thought I knew what you meant. Now that I’m actually living it, I realize it’s far worse than I expected it to be. There’s a part of me always waiting for you to come back. Sometimes I still think you’re going to walk in the living room with fresh flowers for me. Some mornings I still wake up thinking I’ll find you downstairs making breakfast after your morning run. Sometimes I still hear your voice calling for me.

There’s a part of me that will always hope to see you come back.

I never thought I’d spend most of my free time on my wife’s grave. And yet. I used to come here every day after your funeral. I used to spend hours just crying here, looking at the picture I chose to put on your gravestone. You're smiling brightly at the camera, the desease that killed you was still far away at that point. Taking fresh flowers every day, because you loved them when you were alive and I’m convinced you still love them wherever you are. Now, I come here before and after work. Still every day, still bringing fresh flowers. I usually take a few candles with me, you were obsessed with those when you were here. I wonder if you have them there.

People always say dying isn’t hard, because it’s the survivors who suffer. I always thought dying sucked, but I see now why they say it’s who lives who suffer the most. Yes, you had those months of pain, but yours ended. When are mine going to end ? When am I going to stop suffering ? When am I going to stop waking up screaming in the middle of the night ?

I still have nightmares. Nightmares about the doctor telling us there was nothing to do. Nightmares of your wild green eyes turning into a lifeless, pale green. Nightmares of your heart stopping. Nightmares of your mouth slightly parted as you took one, last, shaky breath. Nightmares of your laughter becoming a shallow sound in your last days. Nightmares of your skin turning almost transparent with time. Nightmares of your bones sticking out. Nightmares of your morning run transformed into morning screams of pain. Nightmares of you crying when it all became too much. Nightmares of your funeral. Nightmares of people shaking my hand, telling me how sorry they are. Nightmares of our wedding pictures still sealed in that box. Nightmares of you slipping away.

How is this fair, Lexa ?

You were so young. You had so much waiting for you. You had a brilliant career in front of you. You had so much planned out.

I asked myself so many times why it had to be you. I promise I’d rather it’d been me. I would have gladly taken your place. You were in constant pain in those last few months, and you were strong till your last breath. You didn’t look scared. You said all the cliché things about wanting me to find love again, and about wanting me to be happy even without you. But how ? How am I supposed to be happy without you ? How am I supposed to love somebody else ?

I love you.

I’ve loved so for so long I don’t even know how I’m supposed to stop now. Am I supposed to stop loving you ? Am I supposed to forget you ? Am I supposed to forget the way your voice sounded like ? Am I supposed to forget the way your hands felt on my skin ? Am I supposed to forget your perfume ? Am I supposed to forget the sound of your laughter ?

 

 

 

                              **Lexa Woods**

**July 1 st, 1990 – March 3rd, 2016**

                                                                                                          In peace, may you leave the shore.

                                                                                                            In love, may you find the next.

                                                                                                             Safe passage on your travels,

                                                                                                         until our final journey on the ground.

                                                                                                                     May we meet again.

                                                 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on September 3rd, six months after Lexa's death aired. It might have been the anger I still feel about it, or the sadness that scene will always bring me.


End file.
